


Across the Bridge

by Iturbide



Series: Accursed Divine [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe, Diplomacy, Drama, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Religion, Romance, Slow Build, because everything I do is slow build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 18:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11742252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iturbide/pseuds/Iturbide
Summary: Freed from the curse that plagued her, Robin looks forward to leading the life she always dreamed of...but reality is more complicated than the fairy tale ending she'd imagined.  Crowned Queen of Plegia, Robin soon finds herself mired in political drama and religious conflict while trying to find the happiness she's so long been denied.





	Across the Bridge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AcquaSole](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole/gifts).



> I love fairy tales. I have for years, and I don't anticipate that changing any time soon. And it was out of that love (and a **LOT** of inspiration from the incredible [AcquaSole](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AcquaSole)) that a story came together, weaving together the characters and setting of Fire Emblem: Awakening and the core narrative of my favorite fairy tale, _East of the Sun and West of the Moon._
> 
> But while that tale is finished (complete with a happy epilogue)...the story isn't done. 
> 
> Fairy tales never talk about what happens after the curses are broken. It's all _they lived happily ever after_ and that's the end. But reality isn't that easy. Life is complicated and confusing and nothing is ever so simple as a happily ever after. 
> 
> And that's what this story is. 
> 
> This story is another homage to AcquaSole's wonderful imagining of the Awakening world. I've done my best to honor her headcanons as best I can, so I really hope I haven't messed anything up too badly (please let me know if I have and I can make corrections and updates going forward).
> 
> If you like this story, please go read her works. Not only is she a wonderful person, but her stories are lovely, and this whole series came about because we got to talking about her Fire Emblem fairy tale crossovers. And if you don't like this story...well, that you can take up with me.
> 
> And as always, dashes (-) indicate a change of scene, while (*) indicate a change of perspective. Enjoy!

Robin had hoped to have a bit of time to settle into the new course of her life following the events at the Dragon’s Table. Time to accept the fact that the Heart of Grima her father had so coveted did not lose its significance, but somehow gained more power after his passing. Time to process the notion that her birthmark -- her Brand -- was proof of her divine right to rule over a land she barely knew. It all seemed too unbelievable: from cursed fellspawn to Plegian queen in a matter of hours? Such a turn was only possible in fairytales.

And yet, the next afternoon, messengers on lithe black wyverns set out to carry word across the realm: the Six-Eyes would be crowned come the next new moon. 

She could barely keep pace with the dizzying rush of activity swirling around her. One moment she was being fitted for new clothes to replace the ritual robes and simple shifts that she’d been forced to abide since her return to Plegia; the next she was being introduced to the members of the council that had kept the nation together through the last king’s madness, struggling to keep all of their names and faces in mind; and then she was being lectured on the tradition, ceremony, and script of the approaching coronation. By day’s end, she’d gained nothing more than a headache.

The next few days proved little better, though she at least began to recognize a few of the advisors who accompanied her through her hectic schedule: Aftun, a middle-aged man with a reedy voice and a conciliatory demeanor; Khaden, a heavyset older man with a waist-length beard and a gruff approach to most things; Sayef, a small old man with fluttering hands who always seemed to be fretting about something; and Rasani, an elderly woman with a gentle presence that nonetheless seemed to move everything around her. While the rest of her councilors seemed worried or disappointed by Robin’s slow progress, Rasani merely smiled and assured the young queen-to-be that it would get easier.

Robin desperately needed that reassurance. 

And all the more now, as she entered the room and the three councilmen turned expectantly toward her. Judging by Khaden’s deep frown, Sayef’s hand-wringing, and Aftun’s creased brow, she had interrupted a deadlocked argument. “You...y-you requested my presence?” she ventured, glancing at Aftun. 

“Indeed, Your Majesty,” he nodded. “We were hoping that you might offer your thoughts on an important matter--”

“There is nothing to discuss, the crown will be what it has always been,” Khaden growled. “I apologize for Your Majesty’s trouble.”

“But Aftun does have a valid point,” Sayef remarked. “Her Majesty is a special case…”

“May I ask what I was called for?” she ventured hesitantly. 

“There has been some debate over the crown for your coronation,” Aftun explained. 

“There is no _debate,_ ” Khaden insisted. 

“You see, the last king -- and the king before him, and the king before him, and so on -- have all accepted this crown upon their coronation,” he continued, lifting an undecorated golden coronet ringed by wicked spikes from a cushion on the nearest table. 

“That is how it has always been, and how it shall always be. It is _tradition,_ ” Khaden huffed. 

“But the prior kings have not borne the Heart of Grima,” Sayef noted, drumming his fingertips together. “They were subservient to Grima, chosen by diviners and omens...b-but Grima _Himself_ chose her, the proof is in her Brand…”

“And so the question becomes, what crown should Your Majesty claim when you ascend the throne,” Aftun finished. “There is tradition to consider, but...your station would allow another, if you so choose.”

While Khaden grumbled loudly over the possibility of breaking such a long-standing convention, Sayef bustled to and fro, his hands fluttering before the cushions holding a delicate tiara adorned with amethyst and blood red garnets, a heavy diadem inlaid with diamonds and onyx, a circlet in the shape of wings with delicate feathers made of beaten gold…

Robin paused, lifting the band from its violet pillow. “I know this one,” she murmured. 

“I-indeed, Your Majesty,” Sayef nodded, tapping his fingers together. “It is a ceremonial item worn by the Grimleal in their most sacred rituals…”

“May Grima shelter us beneath His wings and see us safely through to waking,” she murmured. 

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?” 

Robin glanced up at Aftun, smiling sheepishly as she lowered the circlet to its cushion. “Just...thinking of a prayer from my childhood,” she mumbled. She hadn’t thought of it in years -- for so long, she’d hoped not to wake at all, to escape the monster that would claim her come morning…

...but much had changed in so little time. 

“This one,” she said, touching the feathers again. “If that’s alright.”

“If that is your will,” Aftun smiled. 

Khaden’s blustering was interrupted as the door opened and Rasani hobbled inside, her wyvern-tooth necklace clacking musically with every step. “Ah, here you are, Your Majesty -- come along, now, you have an audience to attend.”

“I-I do?” Robin asked, feeling her stomach drop.

“Indeed,” the councilwoman nodded, shepherding the queen-to-be out of the room and down the hall. “The Plegian army has just returned, and the general would like to speak with you about Ferox’s treaty terms. Don’t worry -- you’ve not forgotten any appointments.”

“Oh, thank Grima,” Robin sighed. “I have trouble remembering _anything_ from my schedule, I thought something else had slipped my mind…”

“Fear not, Your Majesty,” Rasani chuckled. “You’re doing quite well for yourself. And this should prove a pleasant break for you: I’m quite certain that General Mustafa is looking forward to seeing you again.”

“...again?” Tilting her head slightly, she glanced over at the elderly woman. “Have...have I met the general before?” His name sounded familiar, but...she had heard it recently, hadn’t she? When word arrived of the last king’s death on the battlefield...

Instead of replying, Rasani stopped and tapped on the door before her. “Here we are,” she smiled. “Go on, then.”

“You’re not coming?” Robin asked helplessly. She didn’t know the first thing about treaties or terms of peace or military operations, how was she supposed to hold her own in the company of a _general?_

“I doubt you’ll have need of me,” the councilwoman chuckled. “But I’ll be waiting here, if you should.”

That hardly reassured her. But Rasani seemed unlikely to change her mind. Drawing in a deep, shaking breath, Robin pushed open the door and stepped inside, folding her hands before her as the broad, heavily muscled man turned from the table to greet her--

They both stopped.

A wave of confusion replaced the trepidation knotting her stomach; she canted her head, trying the place him even as the general’s eyes widened. He seemed so familiar -- something in his stance, his bearing, his presence...but he was nothing like the company her father had kept, so why did she feel like she knew him, and where from…

“By the Six-Eyes,” he breathed, his gaze never straying from her face even as she covered her marked hand. “Robin…?”

Her heart lodged in her throat. 

_Mustafa._ The first time she managed to pronounce his name, he had laughed and lifted her so easily into the air that she felt like she was flying. He’d sat patiently beside her as she struggled to read her mother’s tomes, and when she turned pleadingly to him for help he’d confessed that he had as little idea as she did. Each time they parted -- her to bed or him to other duties -- he had always hugged her tight and promised to see her again. 

And as tears welled in his eyes, she had no doubt that he remembered that oath.

“Uncle Mustafa?” she whispered. 

A smile broke across his face. In two paces he crossed the room, drawing her into a warm, tight embrace that crushed her fears and swept them all out of mind. “I never thought I’d see you again, Little Bird.”

She had nearly forgotten this. Trapped in her father’s clutches, she’d been stripped of every joy she’d ever known, and buried the memories of them so deep she’d thought them lost -- but they all came rushing back, like the sea of flowers blooming in the wake of a desert rain. “I missed you,” she whimpered, wrapping her arms tight around his neck and holding fast. “I missed you, Uncle Mustafa, I missed you so much…” 

“And I, you,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to unabashedly dry his eyes. “Gods, look how you’ve grown! You were barely to my knee when I saw you last.”

“Where did you go?” she asked. “No one would ever tell me what happened, just that you’d left…”

His smile faded as he drew back, laying his hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t leave of my choosing, Little Bird,” he promised. “I was sent to the border. Validar claimed my skills were no longer needed in the capital, with the war over, and ordered me to join the force escorting the last of the halidom’s soldiers back to the border. ...did he tell you about your mother?”

“He said she was gone, too,” Robin mumbled, pulling her coat closer.

“I’m sorry,” Mustafa murmured, drawing her close again. “I should have been there, I should have…”

She shook her head, hugging him tight as he began to tremble. “It’s alright. I’m just glad you’re here, Uncle Mustafa. I’m so glad you’re here…”

“As am I,” he breathed. “So much has happened since...sit down, tell me everything.”

Robin smiled, scrubbing at her watering eyes as he withdrew and pulled another chair out at the table. “I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted, tracing the mark on the back of her hand. “It’s...things were bad for a long time.”

“Had I the power, I would have protected you,” Mustafa murmured, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I heard strange rumors, but...Validar’s following was a secretive lot, given to stamping out gossip rather than feeding it.”

“He cursed me.”

Her hand fisted below her throat, and even now some part of her half-expected to find cold facets there when she did. “He found a gemstone -- the Heart of the Moon, Grima’s stone, an artifact hexed by Plegian priests slain at Ylissean hands -- and made it into a pendant, and...as soon as I put it on, the stone bound to me and turned me into a monster.”

“Little Bird…”

He moved closer, pulling her into a warm embrace. The memory still made her skin crawl, phantom pains gnawing at her bones as she huddled within Mustafa’s arms. “It was hard. I was all alone, my father didn’t let anyone close, and he was never there himself...I-I gave up, after a while. I just wanted to stop hurting. I tried to find a way out. I stopped caring how. I…”

Hushing her gently, the general smoothed her hair with steady hands. Robin swallowed hard, tugging her sleeves over her scars, heedless of whether they were visible or not. “B-but...but then I found a friend. His name’s Henry, and...he made things a little better. He was always with me, and he taught me about magic, and he even helped me get away, for a little while. We went to Ylisse -- it was beautiful, everything was so _green,_ and when the leaves changed it was like the whole forest caught fire…and...I met someone there -- I thought he was a knight, but...he found out about the curse, and he promised he’d help break it. He was kind, and we spent so much time together...”

Strange to think how recent that had been. “But my father found me and forced me to come back. And then there was the ritual at the Dragon’s Table, and I know he was trying to bring Grima back, but...the knight from Ylisse? He’s a prince, and he came all the way to Plegia with men of his own and found a way to break the curse. And now…”

“You have the freedom to spread your wings,” Mustafa chuckled. 

“At least until the coronation,” she muttered. And then...gods only knew what her life would become. 

“I was surprised to see the preparations already coming together,” he muttered. “The last king is barely cold and the diviners have already summoned a successor -- I wouldn’t go so far as to call Gangrel a good man, let alone a good king, but it seems premature. And with how long Validar had thrall over the Grimleal...gods only know what this new queen has in store for Plegia…”

“Gods, I don’t even know where to _begin,_ ” Robin groaned, burying her face in her hands. “They all expect me to be ready for the ceremony in...what, a fortnight? Maybe a week more? Less than a moon, and I can still barely find my way around the castle and greet the council by the proper names, how in Grima’s name am I supposed to stand in front of a nation I know _nothing_ about and promise to guide them?”

She looked pleadingly up at the general, who stared back at her in undisguised awe. “You -- the diviners chose you?” he asked. 

“I don’t know if diviners had anything to do with it, but...as soon as things quieted down at the Dragon’s Table, mages came and insisted that I was fated to be the next queen because of my birthmark, and the next day there’s talk of a coronation and…how am I supposed to do this?” 

He smiled fondly, patting her marked hand. “However you want to,” he murmured. “You were born to lead Plegia. Whatever path you take us down should be the one that feels right to you.”

“Isn’t there someone better, though? What...what if I’m not the right person? What if they’re wrong, and the diviners should have picked someone else?”

“If the diviners had chosen, I’ve no doubt they would have picked Aversa,” he snorted. Robin shuddered at the thought -- both of what the sorceress would have done with such power, and at the knowledge of her fate, brought down by the backlash of her own hex as Chrom’s sword cut through it. “And the diviners would only have proven themselves fools corrupted by Validar had they done that: this mark,” he insisted, curling his hand over hers, “is proof that Grima chose you for this. To be His voice, and guide us by His will. This is your birthright.”

“Even if it is, I’m...I’m not ready. I don’t know what to do, or how to guide _anyone,_ or…”

“Well, Little Bird...that’s what I’ll be here for from now on. You’ll be hard-pressed to be rid of me.”

She looked up at his smile, her eyes burning anew as she returned it. “I’m glad,” she sniffled. “I’m so glad you’re here, Uncle Mustafa…”

“As am I,” he chuckled. “Now, then: would you care to learn a bit about diplomacy before you take the throne?”

As she dried her eyes, the general removed a roll of parchment bound with an iron ring from a pouch at his side. She took it curiously, glancing once at him for permission before carefully removing the scroll from its holder and spreading it across the table, holding the edges to keep it from snapping back into its original coil. 

Robin had never seen an armistice treaty before. She’d read about them in several books, but the details there had always been vague, at best. The Feroxi terms she now held were, by contrast, quite frank: several tons of gold and diamond, a high tax on select Plegian imports and minimal tax on major Feroxi exports, plus exclusive rights to the use of the lake at their shared border. Everything about it seemed entirely unreasonable to her.

“Is this fair?” she ventured nervously. 

“For a Feroxi, it’s rather even-handed,” Mustafa replied. “But no. It’s certainly not fair.”

“So what do we do?”

“We negotiate.”

At least she wouldn’t have to swallow her dismay and simply give in. “...how do we start?”

“Feroxis value plain speech over coded missives, so it would be best to deal with the khans in person. You and I can pass this on to the council and they’ll consult the appropriate ministers and advisors on what we can and can’t part with...and after your coronation, we can see about a journey north, so you can try to talk them down from wholesale slaughter to highway robbery.”

She didn’t necessarily like the sound of that, either. But it was at least a place to start. “And...will you help me?” she asked, peeking up at him again.

A brilliant smile broke across his face. “Of course I will,” he laughed. “Naga herself couldn’t pull me away.”

And in that moment, no promise could have made her happier.

\-----

The remaining time passed in a dizzying rush of activity, with plans organized and debates held and preparations made for the swiftly approaching coronation day. Robin barely had the energy each night to glance at the moon over the dunes before falling into bed; and even as it began to wane, she had no strength to spare for extra anxiety after long hours of instruction, demonstration, and rehearsal.

But when she woke just before dawn on the appointed day, Robin felt a curious sense of acceptance. She had expected to feel a crushing dread as her life once more teetered on the verge of change...and instead, her resolve to face this challenge only strengthened. And regardless of how well or poorly things went, she knew that she would lose nothing of real value at the day’s end. She would still have Henry and her uncle beside her. She would still have Chrom and his Shepherds at her back.

And most importantly, she would still be _herself._

She rose quietly, careful not to wake Henry in his cot as she moved to sit by the windows and watch the dawn. Even with soft clouds washing out the color of the sunrise, Robin felt the nervous tension coiled in her stomach ease with the lightening sky…

...until she realized that the sands below the castle were crowded with people, a dark sea of spectators waiting for the ceremony to commence. The gathering at the Dragon’s Table had been a mere fraction of these masses.

They had come to see _her._

Any peace of mind she might have salvaged evaporated at that realization.

The weeks spent preparing for this day suddenly seemed inadequate. What if it wasn’t enough? What if she made a mistake? A grievous one? What if the people would not accept her? Someone so young, who had been raised in such isolation, who knew _nothing_ of these lands in spite of having lived within their borders all her life? What if…

...what if she wasn’t the right choice at all? What if the mistake was in selecting her to begin with? What if she led these people -- all of those who had come to see her anointing, and all of those who remained scattered through the sands and plains and mountains beyond -- down the wrong path? Toward unrest, toward uprising, toward war? How could she possibly guide a nation--

“Holy wow, that’s a big crowd,” Henry yawned, slumping against her shoulder. “You scared?”

“Petrified,” she corrected, her voice trembling nearly as much as the rest of her.

“Awwww, Robin, you’ll be great! Everybody’s gonna love you.”

“Henry, you couldn’t hex that many people if you tried. ...which you’d better not have.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he pouted, sticking out his tongue. “But I don’t need a hex to know they’re gonna love you.”

“How can you know that?” she whispered, unable to tear her gaze away from the crowds.

“Because you’re you. How could they _not_ like you?”

“Because I’m ignorant and untrained and don’t know the first thing about leading anyone?”

“I dunno, you led me pretty well when we got out of here,” he giggled.

“And really, if those alone would disqualify you, then our first king was as unfit for the throne as you are.” 

Robin jumped at the unexpected voice, turning with Henry to watch as Rasani hobbled over to join them. They both made room by the window as the elderly woman settled in beside them, pulling a small bundle of almond wafers from her sleeve and offering them both a cookie with a smile. “Might I offer a bit of encouragement, Your Majesty?”

“I think I need all I can get,” Robin mumbled, glancing out at the sands again as she took the treat.

“I’m tellin’ her, they’re gonna love her!” Henry piped up, scattering cookie crumbs down the front of his nightshirt.

“And he is quite right,” Rasani agreed. “They will love you. Because your story is the story of our nation.”

Robin frowned, turning the wafer over and over in her hands. “I...don’t think I understand.”

The old woman smiled, savoring her own cookie as she looked out on the early morning. “Things have never been easy for Plegia,” she murmured. “Since Grima’s fall, we have done our very best to survive with little more than our own force of will and the support of those locked in the same straits. Our people have been isolated by our rulers, ostracized by our neighbors, hunted down as heretics, enslaved as heathen barbarians...and yet, we have endured. We have survived assaults from beyond and madness from within. We have overcome loss and despair and it has brought us to this moment, and this lovely young queen: a woman who was raised in isolation by her father...who escaped, and found herself feared as a monster...who was pursued and ensnared in the chains of fate...who survived the machinations of her sire and the desperation of a lonely life by strength of will and the help of a cheeky little friend...and who now has the freedom to come into her own at last. Does any of this sound familiar, Your Majesty?”

Rasani’s smile made her face flush with warmth. “A bit,” she mumbled. “Though I don’t see how that makes me a better queen than someone else. Someone who knows what to do. Like you.”

The old woman laughed softly, patting Robin’s hand. “You’ve all the makings of a fine queen. Tell me: what is it that you want, Your Majesty?”

“To not mess up,” she mumbled.

“There’s no harm in mistakes,” Rasani chuckled. “But be broad. Your life is yours now. What do you want from it?”

Robin thought of all the fantasies she’d entertained during her childhood, all the hopes she’d carried to Ylisse with her when she and Henry had escaped...all the dreams she’d let go of when her father dragged her back across that border. “...I don’t want to worry so much. I want to see more of the world. I want...I want to meet people, and make friends, and...and do all the things I’ve never had a chance to do.”

“And that, Your Majesty, is precisely why you will make a fine queen.”

She frowned as the old woman patted her hand again. “I...don’t think I understand. A queen isn’t supposed to be selfish, she’s supposed to be dutiful and...and poised, and selfless, and...”

“What ruler is ever truly like that, though?” Rasani scoffed cheerfully. “The best rulers are the ones whose wants align with those of their people. And the Plegian people have long wanted peace of mind. An end to conflicts with Ylisse, a freedom from fear...and with a queen who wants to see the world, and forge bonds with our neighbors, we finally have a chance. Your dreams are our dreams. And that is why Grima sent you to be His voice among us.”

Robin rubbed the mark on the back of her hand. “What if He made a mistake? What if...I’m not worthy of His heart?”

“Grima would not make such an error,” the woman assured her. “You may not feel worthy now. But you were chosen for a reason. And in time, you will see it, just as we do. Don’t you agree, Henry?”

“Abso-tively,” the mage chirped, snuggling against Robin’s shoulder. 

“Of course you’d say that,” she mumbled into his hair, pretending not to notice as he snuck a hand out for her cookie. 

“‘Cause it’s true,” he insisted, easing the wafer free of her fingers and stuffing it into his mouth before she had time to protest. 

“Indeed,” Rasani agreed. “Now, then. Shall we prepare for the day?”

It was a much simpler matter than Robin had anticipated. The elderly councilwoman led her to the baths, where attendants scrubbed her pale skin pink, washed her hair with rosewater and plaited it with dark feathers, and helped her into a simple undyed dress; Henry met them as they exited, holding her coat up invitingly...and after glancing to Rasani for approval, she pulled it on and fastened the brass clasps, wrapping it close around her and breathing in its warm, familiar scent. 

As they walked through the halls, the councilwoman reminded her gently of what to expect in the ceremony that awaited and the responses she would need to make. They had rehearsed this many times in the past few days, but Robin was grateful for the reminder, now that her nerves seemed to have stripped all those preparations from her memory. And yet, as they stepped out into the gentle breeze and a cry went up from below the mesa, her knees locked in terror, panic blanking out her mind all over again.

“It’s quite a crowd,” Rasani chuckled, patting her sleeve gently. “We’ve employed a few mages with amplification and projection spells. Don’t worry, Your Majesty -- everything will be fine.”

Gods, Robin hoped so.

They picked their way down the narrow steps cut into the cliff face, and she struggled to recollect her calm as they came to stand beneath the great six-eyed skull. She folded her hands, glanced down, and hesitantly refolded them with her mark facing out; a murmur of awe rose from beyond the courtyard, and she glanced up, wondering if she might be able to see whatever spell was projecting her image for the gathering…

...and instead, she felt the first drops of rain on her cheeks. Within moments, the whisper of water on the stone altar drowned out all sounds from beyond the quiet ring of people surrounding her: Rasani, several other council members (Aftun and Khaden among them), and Henry humming at her back. That carefree cheer settled her nerves more than any reassurance.

Rasani opened her arms as she turned to the courtyard gates. “Behold!” she cried, her voice echoing out over the desert beyond. “We are truly blessed this day: the skies that Grima Himself once filled now anoint our new queen, as our mortal hands prepare to anoint her with holy myrrh.”

The cheer from beyond the courtyard walls shook the pillars around the altar. Turning from the crowd, Rasani smiled at Robin as the rain soaked through their robes. “Are you willing to take the oath, Your Majesty?”

Tightening her fingers, Robin drew her attention away from the mark on the back of her hand and offered a shaky nod as she met the councilwoman’s eye. “I am willing.”

“Do you swear to govern the citizens of Plegia, from its deserts to its mires, its harbors to its isles, its mountains to its valleys, according to the laws that Grima gave unto His people?” the elder asked.

“I do so swear,” Robin replied, her voice quavering only slightly in her own ears. 

“Will you guide your people, through times fair and fell, with an even hand that favors no man nor woman over another, as Grima guided His people when He filled our skies?

“I will.”

“Will you use all your powers, bestowed upon you by mortal hands and divine blessings, to protect your people from threats within and without, as Grima once sheltered us beneath His wings? Will you Speak Grima’s words unto your people, and rule us as He did when still He soared above our lands?”

“I will do all of these things.”

“Then may Grima look down upon you, and by His will may your reign be blessed beneath His gaze.”

Robin looked up at the skull towering over them, holding her breath as she waited. Rasani had warned her that a bit of showmanship would be involved, casting dark magic into the empty sockets to give the impression of life…

...but the light that filled the skull’s eyes was unlike any magic she had ever seen. 

A cry rose from the desert beyond, barely heard over the pounding of her own heart. The violet suns shifted slightly, and she felt a great presence staring down at her, judging her quaking knees and watering eyes and the fearful awe swelling in her breast…

...and she sensed its smile as the fires winked out of existence, one by one. 

Beyond the gentle rain, nothing moved for a very long moment. 

Rasani’s quavering voice jarred Robin at last from her reverie. “Grima Himself bears witness to our new queen! And with His blessing, we anoint her as our sovereign.”

Bowing her head, Robin closed her eyes, fighting to control her own tremors as the old woman’s shaking hands gently dried her face; she smelled the oil’s warm, rich fragrance as Rasani drew two eyes upon her brow, two upon her cheeks, and brushed her fingers over her eyelids, finally connecting the marks with a simple arch that met at her chin before twining down her throat to rest between her collarbones. 

“By our mortal hands and by the blessed rains, by the oil of myrrh and by Grima’s own presence, we sanctify you, Queen Robin. Blessed be the Six-Eyes, and blessed be she who bears Grima’s Heart.”

As she opened her eyes, Rasani’s smile met her; Robin ducked her head, and the elderly woman gently placed the familiar circlet on her brow, arranging the delicate beaten gold feathers with great care to avoid damaging them. Khaden had continued to insist, up through the final days, that tradition needed to be upheld...but she had little love for the spiked abomination of her predecessors. Something about this circlet seemed gentler to her. And Robin wanted, more than anything, to make Plegia a kinder land in the wake of such fraught and tyrannical reigns before.

She straightened again, squaring her shoulders and glancing again toward the skull with its dark, empty eyes. Whatever magic had touched it, she felt no trace of it now…

But she had little time to dwell on what she had seen. One by one, the council members filed past to offer oaths of fealty to their new queen. Following them came the generals, her uncle among them in ornamental armor inlaid with ivory and obsidian; and in their wake came the Grimleal hierarchy that remained after her father’s demise, the same small procession of mages who had brought her before the Plegian people after the events at the Dragon’s Table.

And as the last of them moved past her, a hushed murmur went up from beyond the courtyard. Smiling warmly, she bowed her head as Chrom stepped up to meet her, flanked on one side by his younger sister and on the other by the stern-looking great knight that seemed to follow him everywhere. In spite of the rain, he still looked to be in high spirits, returning her polite greeting with a charming grin and a courteous bow of his own.

“Your Majesty, Queen Robin,” he recited, “I, Prince Chrom of House Ylisse, on behalf of the halidom of Ylisse, recognize your sovereignty as ruler of Plegia. I pray that our countries might one day find the peace that my sister, the last Exalt, once sought for all our people.”

The words had been carefully chosen and practiced until they both knew them by heart; and yet, the sorrow in his eyes still made her heart ache. “Prince Chrom of House Ylisse,” she replied, “Plegia welcomes you and yours. For too long, our nations have been at odds, and the cost has been too dear. We mourn your loss as our own, and pray that Grima shelters her soul within the cover of His wings, that she may safely ascend to those Exalted spheres beyond the boundary, and be laid to peaceful rest.”

He bowed his head, and both Lissa and Frederick followed suit. As Robin turned, a veiled woman presented a cushion bearing an item wrapped in dark embroidered cloth. The queen took it gently, drawing back the soft fabric and stepping forward to present the gold headpiece within to the prince. “The former king of Plegia committed a grave offense against you and yours,” she said, the spells on the courtyard amplifying her voice in spite of its softness. “And though we cannot return the peace that was stolen, we would return this crown to the hands who should, by rights, bear it.”

“I thank you, Queen Robin,” the prince murmured, taking the halo gently from her hands. Silence fell across the courtyard, broken only by the susurrus of rainfall on the sandy stones, while Chrom touched the delicate engravings etched into the Exalt’s headdress...before finally looking to Plegia’s queen once more, a warm smile softening the sorrow in his eyes. “In the spirit of forging new bonds between our countries, we of House Ylisse offer a hand in friendship, and extend to you an invitation to visit our fair halidom, as you have so kindly welcomed us within your own lands.”

“We would be honored to accept your generous offer,” Robin replied over the hushed murmurs around her. “And from your gracious gesture, may peace soon bloom for all peoples within our nations.”

Though she could not see the expressions of her own advisors, the great knight’s sudden pallor made it abundantly clear that the addition had come as a surprise. But, as Chrom had remarked when they began to plan their special announcement, sometimes it’s better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. 

They would likely have their work cut out for them in making sure this happened. But as the prince of Ylisse stepped back and her own procession made its way past the dark skull, she found the notion far less daunting than she had before. 

This was the course she wanted her life to take. A course that would bring her freedom. Travel. Friendship. And with it, by Grima’s graces, she and all of Plegia’s people would at last know peace. 

\-----

“Please, Your Majesty, we would ask again that you reconsider…”

This would be the eighth time in the past two days that they had tried to change her mind. Robin sighed, and was not surprised to hear her own exasperation echoed (and amplified) in Chrom’s groan as he sprawled back in his chair.

“You may ask,” she agreed. “But my answer will be the same as it was last time, so you would likely be better served by refraining.”

“We really must protest,” Sayef insisted, tapping his fingertips together. “We have hesitated to bring up the matter, under the circumstances...a-and I mean no offense to our honored guest, but...it seems unwise to undertake such a journey so soon after ascending to the throne. The risks you would face in Ylisse--”

“Are you suggesting we’d just stand by while she’s hurt?” the prince demanded.

“Of course not,” Sayef replied, his hands fluttering in a placating gesture, “only that you may not be able to stop it should the worst come to pass--”

Robin held up a hand, silencing the room with shocking ease. Gods, this was still so strange, having people hanging on her every gesture. “Calm down. I understand your concerns--”

“Do you, Your Majesty?” Khaden rumbled. “If you truly understood the dangers, you would not allow this man to force you into such a poorly-veiled attempt on your life--”

“Alright, _now_ I take offense,” Chrom snarled, rising from his chair quickly enough that it crashed to the floor behind him. Robin buried her face in her hands and began to sincerely regret having crawled out of bed.

“You’re missing the good part,” Henry hissed, elbowing her until she parted her fingers enough to see the fuming prince of Ylisse staring down the heavyset councilman, his fists trembling with barely restrained rage (though, much to her relief, he refrained from grabbing the man’s beard). “Cookie?” the dark mage offered, holding out one of Rasani’s thin almond wafers. Robin shook her head, rising from her seat with rather more care than Chrom had and laying a hand gently on his arm.

“That’s more than enough of that,” she sighed. “Please. Everyone. Can we at least attempt to hold a civil discourse on the matter?” 

The prince, at least, had the decency to back down with a slight nod, turning to right his chair before sitting with his hands folded on the table before them. Robin took her own seat only after the rest of the advisors, counselors, and ministers had returned to theirs. “Thank you. Now, then. I would appreciate it if you could be frank about all of your misgivings.” Clearly they had been dancing around the heart of the matter in their previous attempts to sway her. “One at a time, please. Aftun?”

The man smiled at her as she inclined her head toward him. “I am most grateful, Your Majesty. I believe I speak for all of us when I say that our primary concern is for your safety and well-being. There is a long history of conflict between our nation and our eastern neighbor, much of it...quite violent. There have been no peaceable diplomatic engagements between Plegia and Ylisse in my memory, and...from what I understand, Ylisseans are contemptuous and even openly hostile toward Grimleal and Plegians as a whole. It does pain me to say this, but given the attitude of its citizenry, the halidom of Ylisse is not a safe place for a Plegian, let alone our queen. Especially in light of our former king’s transgressions.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw Chrom fold his hands more tightly. “Your concerns are well-noted,” she said. “Thank you. Khaden?”

The large man cleared his throat, stroking his beard as he rose from his chair to address the table. “In addition to Aftun’s point, need I remind you that you’ve only just been anointed as queen of Plegia. The people expect that their ruler will stay -- and given your nature, protect them in the event of disaster.” Robin’s fingers curled over the six-eyed mark on the back of her hand, but she said nothing. “To leave Plegia so soon after your coronation will sow panic among the population, especially since you will be crossing the eastern border into Naga’s lands. We cannot lose Grima’s Heart to the halidom’s machinations.”

She nodded, not daring to speak (and unsure if she even could, with her throat so tight). Chrom touched her arm gently, and Henry leaned against her other shoulder, once again offering a cookie (which she took after a moment’s pause, turning it over and over rather than eating it). Finally lifting her gaze, she nodded to Sayef.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he mumbled, drumming his fingertips together. “Given all of the recent upheavals -- the border conflict with Regna Ferox, the incursion by Ylissean soldiers…” The man paused at Chrom’s snort, but continued on when the prince did not voice a complaint, “...the deaths of both the last king and the head of the Grimleal -- the nation needs stability now, more than anything else. If you were to leave so soon after your coronation, it would only create still more fear and unrest, as we would be losing the queen we only just gained.”

Tapping the cookie once against her palm, Robin finally took a bite, glancing up and down the table for others who seemed eager to speak. Rasani raised her bony hand, lightly touching the wyvern-tooth necklace at her breast as the queen gestured toward her. “I thank you, Your Majesty,” she bowed, her soft voice floating across the silent room. “This may seem frivolous, but I must ask: what is it that you could learn in Ylisse that you could not learn here in your homeland? Your father kept you sequestered for so long that we fear you know as little of your own people as you do of the world beyond Plegia’s borders. The halidom is a very different place, with very different ways -- would it not make more sense to learn all you can of your own kingdom, before you learn of another?”

So far, that was the best point she’d heard in favor of abandoning the trip. And Chrom seemed to realize that, too, judging by his frown.

Looking once more around the table, Robin settled back in her seat and folded her hands. “Are there any more objections?” The assembled men and women bowed their heads in reply. 

“What about arguments in favor?” Chrom asked.

“Do you have one?” she returned softly. 

His shoulders hunched slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Not a very diplomatic one,” he confessed.

She patted his shoulder, unable to quite hide her smile. “Let’s hold off, then.” Leaning her elbows against the edge of the table, she stared for a few moments at the swirling grain, collecting her thoughts as her chin settled in her hands. They had several sound points. But weighed against that was the entirely selfish fact that she wanted to go -- and even if that did eventually bring peace to Plegia, she still felt like a terrible queen. 

But many of their arguments had a common theme. The enmity between Ylisse and Plegia was not a relic from the age of myths, but a palpable force that had stolen countless lives on both sides of the shared border -- and most recently, Chrom’s older sister. Robin’s presence would sit poorly with the Ylisseans if her relationship to the last Exalt’s murderer were to come out, but…

“Your Majesty?” Aftun called. “Are you feeling unwell?”

She glanced up at the concerned faces around the table and managed a smile. “Oh, no. Just thinking.”

“Are you reconsidering…?”

“Yes,” she nodded (and Chrom did a terrible job of hiding his immediate dismay).

“Wonderful,” Sayef sighed. “I’ll have the preparations halted at once--”

“Oh, no, I’m still inclined to go.”

Her voice cut easily over the chatter that had begun swirling through the room, silencing it at once. Sayef’s face paled slightly as Khaden rose to his feet. “You just stated that you were reconsidering,” he argued.

“I did,” she agreed. “I’m reconsidering my reasons for going, and I believe that this trip is, in fact, necessary at this stage.”

“How in Grima’s name can you believe such a thing?” he snapped.

Robin tapped the table with the tips of her fingers. “You’ve all made it quite clear that Plegia’s greatest concern is Ylisse. And not without reason, given both the history between our nations and recent events. I understand the points you raise -- but when so many of them stem from a single source, it seems far more beneficial to simply address the root cause.”

She smiled, looking around the table again as she began to trace the wood grain under her fingers. “Aftun, you said that there have been no peaceful diplomatic missions between us in memory, correct?” He nodded, seeming puzzled by the reminder. “The prince of Ylisse has offered us a grand gesture of goodwill: he has invited Plegia’s queen on a peaceful diplomatic mission where both of us, as young rulers ill-prepared for the throne, might learn to manage our nations by the same set of precepts. It opens the door for trade agreements in the future -- we’ve not traded with the halidom in memory, either, have we?”

Aftun shook his head, unable to speak. “Now, do correct me if I’m mistaken, Prince Chrom, but while Ylisseans do not care for Plegians or Grimleal, they have suffered greatly from a war fought within recent memory and would prefer to avoid another large-scale armed conflict. Yes?”

“That seems fair to say,” he replied carefully.

“In that case, who among the Ylisseans would risk throwing the halidom back into war by attacking or imprisoning the queen of Plegia who, need I remind everyone, will be there as party to a peaceful diplomatic delegation?” No response. Glancing toward Henry, she saw the dark mage grinning ear to ear. “On top of that, if Ylisseans have such disdain for Plegians, they will likely look forward to my departure, rather than make efforts to delay it, given that their hands are tied by the threat an international incident. And as for learning about Plegia before learning about Ylisse...well, I would hope that cultural advisors would be allowed to accompany me on the journey, so that I can learn more about our people as I learn how to handle a kingdom. The two courses of study should mesh well, as I’m sure that not everything that applies to the halidom’s governance will work for Plegia, and having it all so fresh in mind will make it much easier to prepare a plan for review by the council on my return.”

She smiled, folding her hands as she sat back in her chair. “Well, then. Are there any objections?”

Soft laughter filled the room as Rasani applauded. “Well done, Your Majesty. Quite the prescient argument. I hope the Ylisseans learn as much from you as I imagine we will on your return.”

Robin blinked as the elderly woman hobbled to her feet, rousing the rest of the silent assembly and shooing them out of the room. Was that the end of it?

“How did you come up with that?”

Chrom was staring at her. Smoothing her hair sheepishly (and elbowing Henry as he giggled into his hands), Robin tried to put on a confident smile. “It seemed obvious, once all the arguments were out in the open.”

“Not to me,” he admitted.

She grinned, rising from her chair and helping Henry to his feet. “Thank you again for sitting in on these meetings with me,” Robin added.

“Of course. Not that I’m much help,” the prince chuckled. “But I took part in a few councils with my sister. She always said she felt bravest when she knew she had an ally in the room, even if he didn’t say much.” 

His smile made Robin’s heart twist. Even if she’d had no direct hand in the act, Chrom’s loss weighed heavy on her -- and moreso now that she was not only blood of the man who had taken the exalt’s life, but successor to the king who had ordered her death.

But he brightened after a moment as they made their way out into the hall. “So you’re coming, after all.”

“If that argument was enough to satisfy them, then yes,” she agreed. If it wasn’t, then she would need to think of another. Perhaps she should start preparing now, just in case--

“How long until you can leave, do you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed. “I suppose it depends on how long preparations will take. And we might need to divert through Ferox to negotiate the treaty terms before we can make our way to Ylisse...”

“At least I can help out more there than I do here,” the prince laughed. “Feroxi diplomacy involves a lot of yelling and hitting things. We get along. And Regna Ferox gets even more snow than Ylisse -- they’re probably buried in it by now.”

The thought made her smile -- all the more for the memories that came with it, bringing a faint prickle of warmth to her cheeks. “The halidom has charms all its own, though. And I’m looking forward to seeing them. With the right eyes, this time.”

“If the weather agrees, we might even make it in time for spring -- then maybe you’ll believe that the trees aren’t dead,” he grumbled, glancing pointedly at the dark mage skipping along in Robin’s wake. 

“Let’s not look too far ahead,” she chuckled, folding her hands behind her. “We haven’t even set out for Ferox yet. One step at a time is how we’ll make our way.”

But truth be told, those prospects, however distant, thrilled her beyond measure.

\-----

Robin had decided to leave planning the route to her uncle. In her mind (and the minds of the council members), there was no better candidate to chart the course and lead them on. Within a fortnight, their small procession set out on horseback through the shifting sands, accompanied by a detachment of wyvern riders sharing the skies with the two pegasus knights from Chrom’s Shepherds and a Valmese dragon who had joined the prince’s company before their departure from Ferox.

They traveled only in short bursts during the daylight hours, resting frequently wherever they happened to find shade or water, and made their best progress when the sun was lowest in the sky. It meant starting before dawn to make good headway, and Robin got used to napping with Henry as they all rested in the shadow of the great vertebra jutting at uneven intervals from the desert sands. There was a warm familiarity to this routine: they had done something very similar in their escape from Plegia only half a year before. 

Of course, back then the days had been spent slinking through the dunes with Henry on her shoulders, his hands and voice guiding her dayblind form from one shelter to the next for fear that they would both overheat in the baking desert sun. At least now the days were slightly milder...though that could be a trick of her mind: after all, the last time she made the trek, she’d had black scales instead of skin. 

They encountered several small nomadic troops along the route, and a merchant caravan or two on the way to the capital. Mustafa had made a point of introducing all of them to their new queen. And invariably, the men and women who had not attended the coronation had been incredulous, even dismissive, of the young woman astride the dusky mare...until she reached out her hand in greeting, and their gaze met the eyes marked on her skin. And then they prostrated themselves in the sand, whispering prayers into the earth.

She feared she would never get used to that.

The merchants had tried to win her favor with offerings from their caravan wares: rare tomes, lavish jewelry, deadly weapons, ornamental armor...but she had politely declined the offers (much to her uncle’s evident approval). The nomads, however, had been rather more insistent -- but their gifts were truly beautiful: a hand-woven rug bearing Grima’s eyes at its heart; a deep violet shawl painstakingly embroidered with a feather motif; a delicate pouch that had, shockingly, been enchanted to carry far more than anything of its size should reasonably fit (including three lances, her uncle’s broadaxe, and a longbow complete with quiver -- and that was merely the demonstration).

She had not been able to refuse them so easily. And they, in turn, had not refused her invitation to share a meal with the royal procession -- something else the general had looked on with surprising fondness.

They were good people. Wary, at first, of the Ylisseans in their midst, but opening up with a bit of conversation...and a gentle nudge from Robin here and there. And the Shepherds, in turn, followed Chrom’s example as he engaged with the Plegians, until their camps were bright with talk and laughter.

A part of her began to regret the thought of leaving. Even if the travel would not be commonplace, and even if their reverence still disquieted her, she had spent so long sequestered in something just barely short of isolation that the chance to meet these people -- her people, she reminded herself -- thrilled her beyond measure. She listened to their words, to their songs, to their stories, with rapt attention, and tried to commit as much to memory as she could manage before they parted ways.

She stopped counting the days. She didn’t want to think of how few were left before they arrived at the border with their northern neighbor. She instead took every moment she could to enjoy the journey, and the people, along the way.

And yet, it still surprised her when they rode through the gates of a bustling village just north of a crowded oasis. As Mustafa reined in his horse and dismounted, Robin looked around at the curious villagers who had begun to gather in the square -- several of whom, she noticed, had the same pale hair that she and Henry shared.

“I’m looking for Jay,” the general stated calmly as an older woman approached through the growing crowd, her fine silver locks fastened in a neat bun above her nape.

“It seems a bit early for a collection,” she remarked, drumming her fingers on the head of her cane.

“I’m here to make a delivery,” Mustafa smiled, gesturing to Robin as she dismounted from her horse. As the warrior moved aside, the woman stepped closer, peering intently at the young queen’s face.

“Did you bring a new apprentice?” she mumbled, squinting her rheumy eyes. “He’s not had much luck with the last few, but…have we met, child?” The elder leaned closer as Robin began to fidget, looking pleadingly toward her uncle for assistance; he made an encouraging gesture in response, and she drew an unsteady breath before folding her hands before her.

“M-my name is Robin, ma’am--”

The woman made a small, startled sound, dropping her staff as she gripped Robin’s fingers in her wrinkled hands. “I thought you looked familiar, but I never dreamed...by the Six-Eyes, you’ve finally come home…”

Her heart lodged in her throat as the stranger began to weep. “I’m...I’m sorry,” she murmured helplessly, “but I’m afraid I don’t…”

“Oh -- oh, of course not,” the woman laughed, wiping her eyes with trembling fingers. “You were so young when your mother joined Grima, she never had a chance to bring you beyond those dim walls…”

Robin’s breath caught. “You knew my mother?”

The stranger laughed, a sweet sound that stirred something deep in her memory. “Dear child, I am _her_ mother. We prayed you would find your way to us someday -- and Grima has guided you home at last.”

As the woman -- her grandmother -- embraced her, Robin’s confusion gave way to a stunned awe. She had believed her father was the only blood family she had left -- he had told her as much, more than once over the years; and while it was no surprise to find that he’d lied, the realization that her family was alive and here before her threatened to overwhelm her…

“As promised,” Mustafa chuckled.

“Thank you,” the woman breathed. “Grima bless you, General -- gods above, everyone will be thrilled, just wait here…”

“As promised?” Robin muttered as the woman hurried off through the growing crowd.

“I told them years ago that I would find a way to bring you home. It took rather longer than I’d hoped, but…” He shrugged, a faint smile twitching at his beard. “I would have told you sooner, but after your little surprise at the coronation, I thought it was only fair to return the favor.”

His teasing only made her laugh. And with a playful nudge (and a quick duck to avoid the hand reaching to tousle her hair), Robin rushed to meet her family.

***

The whole village assembled to prepare a welcoming feast, celebrating not only the queen’s visit but their lost daughter’s return. Before long, everyone joined in -- including the Shepherds. There was meat to be cleaned and spiced, beds of coals to be tended and fed, ovens to be manned...an endless array of tasks, and something for everyone to take part in.

As Chrom and Sully worked on hauling up buckets of water from the deep well in the heart of the village, a slight movement caught the prince’s eye. Grinning, he tilted his head toward the low shed a few paces on. “Looks like we have company,” he chuckled as a pair of children ducked out of sight. 

“Think they’re gonna help out?” she asked, heaving the pail up onto the stone rim. 

“We could use it,” Chrom agreed, winking toward the place where they had disappeared. After a few moments, a pair of young girls with pale silver-white hair crept out of hiding, the shorter of the two keeping close behind her taller companion. They paused a few paces away, peering at the Ylisseans as they both hefted a bucket in each hand. “Hello,” he offered. 

“Hello,” the smaller one mumbled. 

“Are you Elysians?” the other asked. 

“Well, we are Ylisseans,” the prince laughed. “I’m Chrom. And this is my friend Sully,” he added as the cavalier started marching toward the bustling square. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“See, I told you he looked nice,” the tall one whispered. “I’m Starling, and this is my sister Sparrow.”

“What’s with all the bird names?” Sully asked. “That a Plegian thing?”

The prince shook his head. “I don’t think so -- if it were just Henry, that would be one thing, but...” Unless everyone else happened to be named for birds he’d never heard of, it seemed more likely that these were rare cases. “I have a friend named Robin,” he explained. “She came from the capital--”

Brilliant smiles broke across the girls’ faces. “Is she nice?” Sparrow asked, creeping out from behind her sister’s skirt. 

“Very,” Chrom nodded (ignoring Sully’s snort of amusement). “She’s good at keeping calm, but she’s very kind and wants to make friends with everyone.”

“Do you think she’ll be our friend, too?” 

“Of course she will!” Starling insisted. “Papa said she’s family, so...so she’ll be our friend. Right?” the girl asked, casting a worried glance toward the prince. 

“I’m sure that if you’re nice to her, she will be,” he assured the girls as he and the cavalier dropped their buckets off. “Have you met her yet?” They shook their heads as Chrom began to smile. “Would you like to?”

Both children nodded frantically, pale hair flying in all directions. Scanning the crowd, it didn’t take long for him to pick out Mustafa; gesturing for the girls to follow, the prince wove his way through the square toward the general, trusting that Robin would be somewhere near at hand (much as Chrom could never really manage to escape from Frederick). And, as expected, Plegia’s new queen sat almost in his shadow...next to a middle-aged man who could have been her father, for how similar they looked side-by-side. 

Before the prince could say a word, both children broke away, running toward the man and nearly bowling him over as they threw their arms around him. “Ah, here you are!” he laughed. “What trouble have you been getting into?”

“Mostly they’ve been keeping me out of it,” Chrom replied, moving to join the group.

“Ah, you must be Prince Chrom.” The man smiled and offered his hand, which the prince shook firmly. “It’s an honor to have you with us, given all you’ve done. I’m Jay.”

“My uncle,” Robin explained, casting a quick smile in Chrom’s direction before turning her attention toward the girls. “And that makes you my...cousins?” They nodded, Sparrow clinging shyly to her father while her sister moved to greet the new queen. “I’m very happy to meet you both.”

As the children introduced themselves, a call went up from the edge of the main street; gathering up an odd array of etched stone tiles from the ground around him, Jay gestured for everyone to take a seat -- and moments later, the rest of the villagers crowded into the square for a feast that rivaled everything he’d seen in the capital: skewers of seasoned and roasted meat and vegetables, hearty spiced stew, mountains of flatbread, dried fruits and nuts, peppers stuffed with ground meat...Chrom hadn’t expected it, but he was starting to develop a fondness for Plegian food. 

The conversation was warm and raucous, with people talking and laughing over one another on every side. From their place next to Robin, Sparrow and Starling pointed out everyone they knew to their new friends (with helpful comments like ‘he smells funny’ that made their father and mother both cast warning looks in their direction); in exchange, the prince of Ylisse and Plegia’s new queen told the girls everything they could think of about the capital and the journey through the desert, from the castle atop the mesa to the palace carved into the stone, the great skull at the foot of the cliff and the bones half-buried in the dunes that led to it. 

As twilight fell over the festivities, Jay offered one of the strange tablets to Robin. She took it curiously, closing her eyes and running her fingers over the marks etched in its face. “What is this?” she asked. 

“What do you think it is?” her uncle replied. 

“...fire,” she murmured. “Bright. Warm. Not to burn, but...to light?”

“Just like your mother,” her grandfather chuckled. 

“She had a good sense for magic,” Jay smiled. “She said it sang to her, when she touched a circle. Not that it made her any good at using it -- we almost burned down the village trying.”

“Several times,” her grandmother added. “She never knew when to stop.”

“Hopefully you’ll have better luck,” her uncle winked. “Give it a try.”

“Without a spellbook?” Chrom asked. 

“The circle is all you need,” Jay assured them as Sparrow and Starling crowded closer. “Try it and see.”

Glancing up, the prince found that much of the crowd now looked toward them, the conversations quieting in the growing dark. Robin seemed to have realized that, too; he heard her draw a shaky breath as she closed her eyes again, gripping the tile more tightly as sparks began to dance and swirl into arcane rings around her…

...and from them, pale lilac orbs floated up, hovering like fairy lights and brightening the square as they drifted overhead. A scattering of awed murmurs and applause rose all around them as the queen looked out over the crowd -- but it was her smile that warmed him, rather than their reception. 

“I thought you could only do magic with tomes or staves,” Chrom ventured, leaning closer to see the tablet.

“Oh, no, not at all! The circle is really all you need. Every spellbook has them, of course, but you can put them on all sorts of other things,” her uncle explained as Robin offered the tile to the prince. He took it carefully, rubbing at the etched swirls with his thumb. “Mostly it’s the size that determines what a spell will do. The more space you have to design it, the more complex you can make it and the more you can do with the final product. A charm like that can only do simple things: make lights to see by, call up a breeze for relief from the heat...battle tomes are much more complicated and combine dozens of runes in the circle to create their effects. Crafting one is not an easy task.”

“Which is why you keep losing apprentices,” Robin’s grandmother sighed.

“I’m sure the right one will come along sooner or later,” Jay chuckled. “But until then, I’ll continue my work on my own.”

“Not tonight, you won’t,” his wife warned. “You’ll ruin your eyes working without light. And spells don’t count.”

“It is growing rather late,” Mustafa agreed. “We’d best take our leave, if we intend to make camp while there’s still any light to see by--”

“What? No! We won’t hear of it -- stay here tonight,” Robin’s grandmother insisted, rapping her staff on the ground beside her. 

“We couldn’t impose further--”

“It’s no imposition. Stay here, rest well before you resume your journey.”

“But there’s so many of us,” Robin protested, “and you’ve already done so much…”

“This is the very least we can do,” the woman chuckled. “We gladly share what we have with you and yours, dear child.”

And much to Chrom’s surprise, the queen’s family was not the only one to feel that way. Calls of agreement went up from all around the square, villagers offering whatever spare beds they had to their visitors...but even as the cries grew more insistent, the general held firm. “You can stay, if that is your will,” he added added, laying a hand on Robin’s shoulder. “But it would be best if the rest of us made camp outside the village.” 

With the spelled lights wandering lazily above them, the Ylisseans helped their Plegian hosts to clear the square before moving again beyond the village walls; Chrom glanced back, waving to Robin and Henry at the gates, before joining the rest of the Shepherds in pitching camp as usual and settling in to sleep as the moon rose over the sands. 

...or trying to, at least. 

But even as he tossed and turned in his bedroll, he couldn’t seem to quiet his thoughts. None of this was what he’d expected when they first braved the journey south from Regna Ferox. And he never could have imagined that Robin’s family might be hidden in these dunes -- gods, even she had seemed shocked by that revelation…

Would she still want to leave? 

Heaving a low sigh, the prince dragged himself out of his tent, wandering through the silent camp and out into the sands beyond. The village had gone quiet, the magic lights vanished from the courtyard and the windows dark in the few buildings he could see through the open gates. Robin and Henry might still be awake, talking with her grandparents, listening to stories about her mother’s childhood...or she could be sleeping, comfortable in a welcoming home, surrounded by family she must have dreamed of for years--

“Trouble sleeping?”

The voice caught him completely off-guard. Reaching for Falchion (and cursing as he realized he’d left it in his tent), Chrom whirled to face…

...a very bemused Robin. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she chuckled, tucking a few stray locks of hair behind her ear.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to be out,” the prince admitted, ruffling his hair sheepishly. Least of all her. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she sighed, “and I didn’t feel like staring at the ceiling, but I didn’t want to disturb anyone by pacing around inside or unsettle anyone by pacing around in the square. So I wandered out here and thought I’d say hello when I saw a familiar face. It’s been a long time since we last had an evening chat.”

“So it has,” he agreed, a familiar warmth kindling in his chest. “Is there something you want to talk about? Anything keeping you awake?”

“I don’t know,” she muttered, sitting down and resting her head in her hands. “I just keep thinking about everything that’s happened and...I still can’t believe this is real, sometimes. _Most_ times. That I’m here, and the curse is broken, and it’s not just me and Henry anymore but a whole _family_ I never knew about…”

“Are you thinking about staying?” He joined her in the sand, leaning back and staring up at the stars brightening the sky overhead. As heavily as that question weighed on his heart, the silence stretching between them only made it worse…

“I have been,” she admitted. “There’s just so much...I didn’t think there was anything keeping me here in Plegia before. And now that I’m starting to see it, I want to know all I can about... _everything._ I never got a chance to live for myself before, without being afraid of something ruining it. It’s...a little daunting, thinking that I could probably do whatever I want now. Within reason,” she added. “But...even then. There’s so much I want to do, and I don’t know where to begin.”

“...maybe you should start here,” Chrom murmured.

“What about visiting Ylisse?” she asked. 

“It can wait,” he shrugged. “It’s not like the halidom’s going anywhere. You can take your time here and come when you’re ready.”

“...it all feels so big, though,” she whispered. “What if I’m never ready, after this? What if...this is my only chance?”

Glancing toward her, the prince watched as she pulled her knees up to her chest. Mustering up a smile, he moved closer, curling an arm around her shoulders as he looked out over the quiet camp. “It won’t be,” he assured her. “You’ve got time now. You can do everything you want, whenever you want. So don’t worry.”

She made a soft noise as she leaned into him, her head settling against his shoulder. Things had been so busy since the coronation, they’d barely seen each other, and they hadn’t spoken alone since they’d finished planning their addition to the ceremony. He’d missed this. 

He’d missed her. 

“I’m glad you came with us,” she murmured.

“What else would I have done?” he laughed, tilting his cheek against her hair. 

“You could have set out for the border right after the coronation,” she remarked. “Headed east, crossed through the mountains...or gone north toward Regna Ferox ahead of us, avoided all the delays…”

He hadn’t thought of that. Joining her had seemed so natural, he’d never considered that there might be alternatives. “I’m glad I came along, though. It’s...it’s been enjoyable.”

“Oh, so you _like_ all this sand?” she giggled. 

“Of course,” he grumbled. “Just what everyone needs, boots so full of sand you can never get it all out.” But he was smiling, even still, as she at last stretched her legs out before her. “But this trip has been...it’s nothing like I was expecting.”

“What did you think this would be?”

She would have to ask that.

He sighed, glancing toward the darkened village. “In Ylisse...Plegians are seen as heathens. Barbarians, hex-slingers, cruel and violent and incapable of reason. It’s...part of why my father led a crusade against Plegia -- one that nearly destroyed both our nations. But that impression didn’t go away after it ended: the Mad King only made it worse, with his border raids. I was...I was expecting more of that, I guess. The capital had all its mages and those diviners and...General Mustafa looks very intimidating. And a little wild. No offense.”

“None taken,” she shrugged. 

“But...all these people we’ve met are nothing like I thought they’d be. They haven’t seemed thrilled about us, but...after what my father did, I can understand why. I thought they’d want to hurt us, but they’ve mostly just tried to keep their distance. At least until they realized we were friendly. They’re not that different from the people in Ylisse. Scattered a little further, maybe, because of the desert, but…they’re good people.”

“I’m glad you think so, too.”

He smiled, reaching out to touch her folded hands. “I want you to see Ylisse like this someday. Not just the capital, but the little towns and villages, too.”

“...do you really think they’d accept me?”

“With a little coaxing, I don’t doubt it,” he chuckled. “No more than what you did for us.”

“I look forward to it.” She tilted her head slightly, beaming up at him as she curled her fingers around his. “So what about you? What brings you out so late?”

“The same things that brought you out,” he confessed. “After this whole journey, the idea of leaving is...harder than I thought it would be.” 

“I would say you can stay here, if you’d like, but the halidom’s been waiting for you,” she murmured.

“I can’t avoid it forever,” he sighed. “I have to face it eventually.” Whether he wanted to or not.

“Do you think...it would be easier? Having someone to learn with?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I always seemed to pick up swordplay faster when I had Sully training with me…”

Robin made a thoughtful noise, pulling her coat closer around her. “We should probably get back before we freeze,” she shivered. He’d barely noticed the deepening chill, but as she pulled away and took to her feet, the cold bit into the warmth she had left behind. Even so, he gladly took the hand she offered...and even once he stood before her, he let the touch linger, squeezing her fingers gently. “I’m glad we got to talk,” she said.

“So am I,” he agreed. “It’s been too long. And...I hope we don’t need to wait too long to do it again.”

A knowing grin twitched at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll sleep on it,” she teased. “Pleasant dreams, Sir Chrom.”

“Sleep well, Robin,” he chuckled, moving back into camp as she made her way toward the village. Glancing back once as he reached his tent, he thought he saw her at the gates, and offered a final parting wave before slipping inside and bundling himself in his bedroll.

And even with the uncertainties of the days ahead gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, something about her words gave him peace enough to sleep at last.


End file.
